By Catherine Watson
SEPTEMBER is the cruellest month, mixing memory and desire, T S Eliot wrote, or would have if he'd lived in the southern hemisphere.
Suddenly nature is stirring around us and unexpected encounters are bound to occur.
Cockatoo lovers
The birds of Tank Hill Reserve mostly get along, but spring has stirred up a noisy war of words. The ravens reckon we don't have the infrastructure to cope with any more blow-ins.
Small flocks of yellow-tailed black cockatoos are regular visitors. They never stay long. The grass always looks greener over by the cemetery where the pine trees grow. But lately a few pairs have lingered for a little quiet canoodling in the tree tops near my house. Their amorous chatter drives the kookaburras bonkers.
So too the wood ducks that turn up searching for nest sites. Usually they arrive in pairs, but last week a threesome spent several hours perched peacefully, ignoring the insults hurled by the local rednecks, before deciding the neighbourhood was too rowdy for them. I suspect they moved to North Wonthaggi.
SEPTEMBER is the cruellest month, mixing memory and desire, T S Eliot wrote, or would have if he'd lived in the southern hemisphere.
Suddenly nature is stirring around us and unexpected encounters are bound to occur.
Cockatoo lovers
The birds of Tank Hill Reserve mostly get along, but spring has stirred up a noisy war of words. The ravens reckon we don't have the infrastructure to cope with any more blow-ins.
Small flocks of yellow-tailed black cockatoos are regular visitors. They never stay long. The grass always looks greener over by the cemetery where the pine trees grow. But lately a few pairs have lingered for a little quiet canoodling in the tree tops near my house. Their amorous chatter drives the kookaburras bonkers.
So too the wood ducks that turn up searching for nest sites. Usually they arrive in pairs, but last week a threesome spent several hours perched peacefully, ignoring the insults hurled by the local rednecks, before deciding the neighbourhood was too rowdy for them. I suspect they moved to North Wonthaggi.
Possum squatters
Other visitors: Vilya had grown tired of a mysterious banging on the kitchen wall and sent Martin to investigate. He found the source – a possum’s drey perched on top of the water tank. Inside was a big, bushy-tailed mother and her baby, already fully furred and the size of a small rabbit.
Mum bolted, leaving the kid behind. They tucked it into a sheltered corner of the garden, behind the daffodils. Sure enough Mum came back overnight to collect him or her. For now the pair seem to have moved on, perhaps to a tree next door.
Other visitors: Vilya had grown tired of a mysterious banging on the kitchen wall and sent Martin to investigate. He found the source – a possum’s drey perched on top of the water tank. Inside was a big, bushy-tailed mother and her baby, already fully furred and the size of a small rabbit.
Mum bolted, leaving the kid behind. They tucked it into a sheltered corner of the garden, behind the daffodils. Sure enough Mum came back overnight to collect him or her. For now the pair seem to have moved on, perhaps to a tree next door.
Mystery flies
And then there are the flies. Suddenly the bathroom is full of them. As big as blowflies but different. They're hairier and they don’t buzz or annoy, they just sit quietly on the windowpane. I clear them out, but when I return there are always more: never more than 10, never fewer than one. But where the hell do they come from?
It turns out they are cluster flies, a little bigger and slower than houseflies, with a heavy, bumbling flight. It's almost as if they've been drugged. Unlike houseflies, they’re not interested in food scraps or rubbish. Outdoors, they feed on nectar.
They originated in Europe but have long been in Australia. Through winter they hibernate in sheltered spots such as wall cavities, attics, behind curtains and window frames. When the weather warms they wake and blunder about looking for a way out, which is why they suddenly appear in our homes. They’re sluggish, they don’t bite, and they spread no disease.
I still don’t know where mine over- wintered in the bathroom, but no matter. Now that I know they just want to get out, I’m happy to help. They’re so slow and bumbling you can catch them in a tissue and, if you hold them gently, release them unharmed. They circle once – a quick thank you and goodbye – before heading off for their one short summer.
And then there are the flies. Suddenly the bathroom is full of them. As big as blowflies but different. They're hairier and they don’t buzz or annoy, they just sit quietly on the windowpane. I clear them out, but when I return there are always more: never more than 10, never fewer than one. But where the hell do they come from?
It turns out they are cluster flies, a little bigger and slower than houseflies, with a heavy, bumbling flight. It's almost as if they've been drugged. Unlike houseflies, they’re not interested in food scraps or rubbish. Outdoors, they feed on nectar.
They originated in Europe but have long been in Australia. Through winter they hibernate in sheltered spots such as wall cavities, attics, behind curtains and window frames. When the weather warms they wake and blunder about looking for a way out, which is why they suddenly appear in our homes. They’re sluggish, they don’t bite, and they spread no disease.
I still don’t know where mine over- wintered in the bathroom, but no matter. Now that I know they just want to get out, I’m happy to help. They’re so slow and bumbling you can catch them in a tissue and, if you hold them gently, release them unharmed. They circle once – a quick thank you and goodbye – before heading off for their one short summer.